And So It Goes
by threesummerdays
Summary: It's been a year since the break-up. And then Penny hears the piano from next door and she has to see. Oneshot S/P. Complete and utter fluff.


**A/N**: Don't know. I've been in a weird present-tense writing kick lately, so it's pretty different. As for the rest of it, my roommate had on Pandora and it had this song come up for her – inspiration hit. So all genius is really due to Billy Joel. Seriously. Enjoy!

* * *

She's walking up the stairs, head full of orders she almost screwed up, eyelids filled with the creepy guys she served, the ones she knows had been looking at her ass. She's trying to ignore the fact that a woman's scarf is lingering outside 4A, probably forgotten in the heat of the moment, as she pulls out her keys and slips one into the lock. Her hand is on the knob when she hears the piano. She looks back at her neighbor's apartment. It's been nearly a year since the break-up with Leonard, but she still gets that shock of pain from the jilt. She wants to say hi to Sheldon at least, they got so close after that day, but that means the chance of seeing Leonard with someone else.

She huffs angrily at herself, blows her bangs up, watches them float back down to her eyes. _She _was supposed to be the one to move on first, but here she was, wondering if a Halo game would be just as distracting as a one-night stand. She shakes her head and walks into her apartment. The neighbor can wait.

She dumps her purse on the kitchen island, drops her keys beside it, opens the freezer, and pulls out her secret container of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie. She pulls the spoon out of the drawer and digs in, doesn't even bother with a bowl. As she swallows the sweetness that can cover up the bitter aftertaste of life, she hears the strain of the piano again. She knows the tune, can't quite place it, and that's when the thoughts start running through her mind.

Sheldon knows how to play the piano. He showed her that so many years ago when she got him to drink. Funny, she thinks. She's the only one that's gotten him to get alcohol in his system. And he's the only one that doesn't try to hook up with her when he's drunk. How funny.

And before she knows it, the thoughts of those fingers, those forearms, those eyes, they're all sprinting across her eyes, teasing her, forcing her to admit it.

She can't pinpoint the time or place that it all started. She thinks it was after the break-up, during one of those laundry night sessions. But she can't guarantee that. All she knows now is that he gave her a look, one that makes her heart flutter wildly even now. And at that moment, she realized how she had overlooked the one person who had always treated her the same way. All those years, all those moments, he had treated her like a friend. And just when he's off-limits, just when he's her ex-boyfriend's roommate/best friend, that's when it makes sense.

She recognizes the tune now: "Somewhere Only We Know." _How'd he learn that?_ she thinks. _He knows absolutely zero about modern music_. She forgets about it, eats another spoonful, toys with the idea of visiting him and watching him play. Tells herself to stay. Tells herself to go. Can't make up her mind. Watches the numbers change on the digital clock. Drops the spoon into the sink with the empty carton. Grabs her keys, marches out the door, across the hall, pauses with her fist just above the door. She can't do this. Hears the piano, new song now, something she recognizes in the back of her mind. Decides against knocking, just opens the door instead.

Sees a piano, new addition, it's taking up the little open space between living room and kitchen that once existed. And then she sees him, his eyes closed, fingers spread over the keys, Diet Coke resting on the kitchen island. He's humming to himself, head swaying in time to the music. She's about to leave when he opens his mouth.

"_In every heart there is a room_

_A sanctuary safe and strong_

_To heal the wounds from lovers past_

_Until a new one comes along…"_

She never expects him to have a good singing voice. Sure, his drunken escapades show off his Broadway talent, but it's nothing to write home about. But this… this is different. She's stuck to the floor, the beauty of the sound piercing her heart. It's not technically sound, but there's still something about it.

"_I spoke to you in cautious tones_

_You answered me with no pretense_

_And still I feel I said too much –_

_My silence is my self-defense._

She's never known herself to talk to someone who doesn't lie. She's been healing from the Leonard thing, and who has she been turning to?

_And every time I've held a rose_

_It seems I only felt the thorns_

_And so it goes, and so it goes_

_And so will you soon I suppose_

He's never known a woman who cares about him the way she does. Cares about him? It's time to say it: she loves him. She has for so long, knew it had been creeping up on her for years. And yet…

_But if my silence made you leave_

_Then that would be my worst mistake_

_So I will share this room with you_

_And you can have this heart to break_…"

And if he means the first three verses, God only knows that he'd mean the last one.

He goes into the brief piano riff, his fingers touching the keys gently, but with confidence – he knows this song. She wants to tell him how good he is, but to speak is to break the spell he's cast on the apartment. And she thinks, _I wish he were singing this for me_. Because she realizes it's their song.

Before she can stop herself, she's walking to the piano, holds out her arm, lets her hand hover over his, drops it and stops him. His eyes snap open, confused. He looks up at her, his eyes a little hazy, but not enough to say he's crying.

"Penny," he says, his voice hoarse. "You didn't knock. You're supposed to knock."

"I'm sorry, Moonpie," she says, holding his hand. Her thumb is stoking the soft skin on the back of his, feels the sparks flying between them. She wants to say something, but she can't find the words.

"You're touching me," he says, his eyes flitting between her hand and her eyes. She smiles, touches his mouth with her free hand.

"I know."

It's simple, but it's everything. He's watching her, a tiny smile starting to grow. But he doesn't give up that easily. He jerks his head back, pulls his hand away too, places it back on the keys.

"I need to finish the song," he says, straightening back up. She smiles and draws a stool over to his side.

"I'm listening, whackadoodle."

His fingers slide over the black and white, find their places, rest there for a moment, spring into action. He's playing again, she can't help the smile that finds its way to her face. She's so close she can smell his cleanliness, can feel his innocence, could touch his heart if she wanted. She knows now he's been throwing it at her for years, she's just never noticed before.

"_And this is why my eyes are closed_

_It's just as well for all I've seen_

_And so it goes, and so it goes_

_And you're the only one who knows._"

But his eyes aren't closed. They're open and staring at her as he plays the next verse, full of hope, ready for the rejection. But it's not going to come from her.

"_So I would choose to be with you_

_That's if the choice were mine to make_

_But you can make decisions too_

_And you can have this heart to break_."

And he wants to play the last bit, it's only two lines after all, but she's launched herself into his arms. For the first time in a long time, she knows she's not trying for sex. Not this time. She's not trying to kiss him. Not yet. She just wants his arms around her, wants to feel his shirt in her fingers, know that he's really there.

He's still awkward at hugging, hasn't made his hugging machine yet to help him figure it out, but he's trying. His arms are hovering over her back, finally letting his hands brush over her shirt, touch down, pull her closer to him.

She's breathing into his neck, smelling him, trying to keep it together. He's touching her hair, learning each curve of each strand, noticing how it almost glows in the apartment's light. She wants to kiss him, but she's afraid. A hug's enough for now. She feels him pull away and she leans back, almost falling into the piano.

"Penny," he whispers, his eyes wide. "I don't know how the relationship paradigm works."

She stares at him. She's been with guys like Kurt. She's been with Leonard. But she still doesn't know how to be with Sheldon. No one does.

So she tells him, "Neither do I."

He quirks his head at her, a ready response on the tip of his tongue. But, like his fear, he swallows it, lets it settle somewhere inside his stomach where he hopes it will erode into nothing. He feels his legs moving, he's standing now. He looks down at her as she hovers nervously by her stool, hands reaching out behind her to touch it, make sure it's there. He licks his lips, thinks for a minute.

"How do you propose we begin this experiment?"

She shrugs. "You're the scientist."

He smiles and leans down, looking into her eyes. "I recommend we begin at the first step."

He leans a little closer and kisses her gently. It's so pure, so simple, it briefly crosses her mind that the one British guy, the one who said the truth is rarely pure and never simple, he must have been wrong. Because the truth is she loves Sheldon. And it's pure. And it's simple.

And when he pulls back, she's not horny, not looking for him to drag her into his room by his teeth or his ridiculously long, beautiful fingers. She's not saying it wouldn't be welcome, but she doesn't feel like she needs it. She just needs _him_. So when she smiles at him, she means it.

"I presume that your smile indicates pleasure," he says, a slight twang entering his speech. She nods, looks at her feet, avoids his eyes.

"Good call, rocket scientist."

Before he says something he'll regret, he stops and (literally) bites his tongue. And then he pulls it back out from his teeth and says, because he can't stop himself, "I'm a physicist, Penny."

She shakes her head, smile still there. "I know, honey."

They stand there, silent, for a moment. Then she turns to the piano, holds her arms out like she's measuring the distance between kitchen and living room.

"So, you wanna tell me why you have a piano now?"

Because she can say that. Because this isn't a relationship based on sex or nerdiness or meaningless words you can throw around even though you don't mean them. Because this is, first and foremost, a friendship. And because she loves him, this crazy string bean with the potential for real super villain qualities.

So she can ask him about a piano and not wonder if he's thinking about sleeping with her, or if he'll think it's flirty. No. It's Sheldon. And for him this is, first and foremost, a friendship.

So when he tells her that his Meemaw sent it as a birthday present, and when he tells her all about tuning and about the famous people who like pianos and the different types, she's not really listening, but she cares. Because she loves him.

Not that it stops her from kissing him again in the middle of a sentence, but it sure slows her down.

_And so it goes, and so it goes_


End file.
